


No Heroes

by Shinatobe



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Gen, if you want something done right you gotta do it yourself, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 11:18:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7616050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinatobe/pseuds/Shinatobe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if it had been a different man lurking in the shadows on that fateful night in Dorado?</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Heroes

**Author's Note:**

> (inhales deeply) fuck white savior tropes and the really predictable route they went with 76 in the heroes short. im here to fix it. reaper is a latino man first and foremost, blizzard missed a huge opportunity sticking the old white guy in dorado. so please enjoy this alternative version!

Of all his lairs ("hiding places," Widowmaker corrected with a smirk quite often), Dorado was one of the better ones. Dark and decrepit in a way that would ward off curious eyes, but with boarded up windows that let in shafts of light both day and night. He could lurk and sulk, recuperate every time something went wrong. And that was often, as bitter as it made him to admit it. Gabriel Reyes had never been a lucky man, and neither had Reaper. The long abandoned apartment was familiar enough that he knew no one would look for him, but that never stopped him from checking every corner and crevice in a breath of black fog that was bitter, just as he was.

It wasn't home, in any sense. Home was cracked sidewalks, dirty streetlights, grass so dead it forgot what it should look like. Home was a place with far too many people (because they liked it that way) and searing sun that made the pavement warm even in the evening. Home was his mamá, sisters, brother. Home was even Overwatch, once.

Dorado wasn't home, but it was the closest thing, these days.

 

This town was never quiet, even as evening closed in. Crime was rampant as soon as the skies went dark, but that was never specific to just Dorado. Tonight however, was noisier than usual. The hum of trucks and not too quiet arguing of men below, heavy crates of weapons barely hidden among colorful piñatas, of all things. How cliché. And just beyond them he could hear the familiar clang of an omnic beneath a bat. A familiar sound, but not a comforting one. The steady rhythm, the laughter that followed, the scrape of metal against stone...

Ah. That was him, not them. He withdrew his hand from the stone of the wall, noting the long claw marks left behind with a clench of his fist. He descended, black fog curling into the shadows among the men too busy to notice how the street lamp flickered and the air grew colder for just a moment. How could they notice, with their minds focused on the poor excuse for work they had made themselves. Greedy pigs, sadists, fools looking for a quick buck at whatever cost. Those were the type of men that littered the alley, trudging back and forth through light and dark. Those were the fools that thought  _they_ were the top of the food chain.

One such fool was unlucky enough to spot him in the shadows. He went down quickly, clawed hand around his throat ceasing his squirming rather fast. Too easy. He could wipe them out in minutes, surely. But he was not here to fight. He was here to watch, to escape that noise. The buzzing, the scraping, the footsteps--

Small footsteps.

He disappeared into the shadows, peering out for the source. The sound was too familiar, made his teeth grate, even in this intangible form. He knew the source without having to look, but stared all the same at the young girl, sneaking between crates just barely out of sight of the gang members. What she was doing here was anyone's guess, but the very presence of the child made the bitter taste of bile rise in his throat again.

One of the men glanced down the alley, wary of the noise she made. The crowbar in his hand was bloody, glistening with red. The girl's heel betrayed her, peeking out from behind the crate, a beacon of color to a man looking for trouble.

_She'll die here. She will._

The man had passed him, so he couldn't see his face. But he knew by the hoarse chuckle that he'd seen. He knew she was there. The crowbar rose over his head, glinting in the flickering light. The girl still hadn't moved.

He would have to move, instead.

One bullet was enough to take out the light. Darkness was his friend, his ally here, as the man before him swung around at the sudden noise, weapon still at the ready and eyes sharp. But a bullet was through his head before the smoke even formed, and he slumped to the ground in a broken pile as Reaper turned on his heel. The sound rang out, alerting the rest, but he preferred it that way. They would come to him like a mob, at least until they recognized his mask.

Bullet shells fell like coins to the pavement, bouncing wildly among the bodies that littered it. A hateful prayer whispered from a mask like his was enough to turn one man stark white, mixing well with the blood that dripped down his chin as the bullet hole in his throat made quick work of him.  _La Lechuza_ , another gasped as the wraith of a man overcame him, plunging him into darkness and filling his lungs with acrid smoke. There was no repentance for these men, only hypocritical judgement as he hissed to a dying man, " _These are not your streets anymore."_ With the muzzle of his gun pressed flush to a man's chest, he heard no prayers, no begging or wails. All he heard was the bang, and the thunk as the final man collapsed at his feet, blood pooling beneath him and fear frozen eternal on his face.

It wasn't satisfying. That was nothing new.

Slowly he stepped over the bodies, boots heavy on the stone below them. He could hear her, soft gasps from behind the crate as she tried so desperately to stay silent. Why wouldn't she, faced with a nightmare that all Dorado children had grown up with now within arm's reach. He towered, black smoke still spilling from the gaps in his mask with every breath, guns and claws glinting in the moonlight as clouds finally passed. He was the monster under the bed, in her closet, in every dark corner she couldn't quite see.

And this monster kneeled, though only briefly, dropping a coin purse on her lap. He lifted a hand as if to touch her, but did not, a sigh of smoke leaving him as he stood straight once more.

"Go home. I won't let them hurt you."

His voice cracked and hissed like an old furnace, but the language was still natural on his tongue. It always would be. He turned from her with finality, though he listened for her footsteps disappearing down the alley. They paused, and so did he, glancing over his shoulder at the girl watching him intently.

"...Thank you, La Lechuza." She clutched her purse like a gift, and even with the distance he could see fire in her eyes. A foolish girl.

He only motioned for her to go, waving a hand as he stared over the carnage before him. He did not deserve thanks for this. This was not a hero's work. 

 

When she was gone, he was smoke once more, wafting through the cracks of his apartment and forming at window with his back to the still bright moonlight. His silhouette was broken on the floor, mottled patches of light creating a second monster in this dark apartment, stitched to the feet of Gabriel Reyes, Reaper, and now La Lechuza.

He'd already taken one name. Another was nothing to him.

**Author's Note:**

> i got a lot of feelings about reaper yall. also if it wasn't clear since this is dorado, they were all speaking spanish  
> \---  
> edit: i accidentally posted this twice??? not sure how that happened


End file.
